


Spikethwaite Hall

by cephalopod_groupie



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Charlote Bronte, M/M, Newmann Secret santa, Romance, Secret Santa, jane eyre au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cephalopod_groupie/pseuds/cephalopod_groupie
Summary: For GooberFeesh! for the 2020 Newmannn Secret Santa exchange. I decided to go with the Jane Eyre AU. Thank you for answering my anons about it. Jane Eyre is set between 1760–1820 but I’ve set this story in about 1847, the year Jane Eyre was published. Needless to say I’m not copying the plot of the novel and Hermann isn’t problematic and/or keeping a wife in the attic. Significantly less angsty than a Brontë novel. I hope you enjoy this!Hermann Gottlieb is the mysterious and peculiar master of Spikethwaite Hall located on misty moors. Newton Geiszler is the cheery new gamekeeper who arrives upon the scene who disrupts everything from Gottlieb's niece's schoolwork to the master's own brooding.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler & Hermann Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Spikethwaite Hall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GooberFeesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/gifts).



Newton Geiszler, a man of youthful visage and modest stature, made his way through the mist and fog on the wind-swept moors in search of a great estate where he was to work as a gardener and gamekeeper. He had heard tales of the man, who was by all accounts a rough master who had frightened away much of his servants. Geiszler, being of cheerful disposition and energetic temperament did not see this as an obstacle to his employment and presumed that he would serve the master well and be respected in return. Along the rugged terrain he trekked, his faithful spaniel at his side. There had been no sign of the house since he started out the day before but he was sure he must be on the edge of the estate. A half a mile later, Geiszler thought he heard footfalls and the distinct sound of the end of a cane hitting a rock. Geiszler then heard what he thought could be the sound of distant thunder but was in fact a man grumbling to himself. It was difficult to discover where the source of the sound was coming from. Without warning, Newton Geiszler collided headlong into the bulk of another person. The dog barked in the confusion. There was a low shout of anger and the sound of someone hitting the ground with great force. Geiszler could see little, swore under his breath, and begged the person their pardon until at last he felt the person’s arm, and helped them to their feet. The mist was slowly clearing. Geiszler adjusted his spectacles and before him loomed an extraordinary person, a gloomy visage of a man taller than himself. The man was not alarmingly tall but imposing enough to take Geiszler’s breath away. He was thin and very pale, with brown hair almost comically askew. He was wearing a shabby navy-blue coat past a decade hence in fashion though well tailored but worn with many holes, on top of which was a double-breasted brown overcoat with the collar turned up, a bit dirty and burnt in places but once of the finest quality. His trousers and shoes were also finely tailored - no doubt he was a gentleman - but those also were worse for wear. For a moment the man raised his golden handled cane backwards in anger as if to strike but looked into the man’s green eyes before him and lowered the stick. 

“Are you injured, sir?”

The man looked down at Newton - weather-worn and ruddy and strong - and at his red waistcoat with his shirtsleeves up, snug black trousers, and a very dark overcoat hanging off his broad shoulders, so dark a blue in fact that it appeared black - a flamboyant coat for a traveling laborer. Upon his arms were many inkings of squid and other monstrous creatures of sea and land - once a sailor, perhaps. The man’s expression was that of disgust but also one of curiosity, and his high cheekbones and wide thin mouth remained disdainful and suspicious. He panted, still out of breath from his fall. 

“I am uninjured,” the man sighed, attempting to sound grateful for the inquiry. 

The spaniel encircled the men and barked once more. 

“Tress!” Geiszler scolded. 

The man looked quizzically down at the dog and then at Geiszler; the latter explained that the spaniel’s name was short for “Trespasser.”

“Hardly an appropriate name for a vagabond’s dog.” 

“Oh, I’m not a vagabond, sir. My name is Newton Geiszler. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”  
“Indeed,” the man said with almost no expression at all while he took the smaller man’s outstretched hand. Newton’s hands were rough and callused from his laboring but no less capable of tender work. The mysterious figure pulled his hand away and gripped his leg suddenly, overcome with discomfort for a moment.

“You are hurt!” 

“No, it is nothing. An old injury pains me. May I take your arm?” 

“Of course, here,” Geiszler said, offering his arm and wrapping his strong hand over the top of the man’s long gloved fingers. The taller man looked down at him. 

“It isn’t far.” 

“Spikethwaite Hall? Oh! That is good, I’m to work there,” Geiszler said. The dawn seemed to break between them and with a sharp intake of breath, Geiszler asked, “Are you…?” 

“I am Hermann Gottlieb, master of Spikethwaite Hall.” 

Geiszler looked upward with some awe and trepidation at the handsome man as the misty air blew around them in the most romantic fashion. Gottlieb cleared his throat somewhat nervously and intimated that they had better move. 

“Come, Tress,” Geiszler called to her, patting his own sturdy leg. They did not speak for some time, navigating the terrain with cautious steps. The dog ran ahead and Mr. Geiszler, though supporting Gottlieb, was guided by him as they got closer to the hall. Soon, they could see Spikethwaite in the distance, its dreary, gothic facade was not at all welcoming, but the prospect of a warm fire and something to eat was encouraging. Gottlieb nearly slipped, and jabbed his cane into the barren grass. Geiszler held fast, inadvertently rubbing his thumb over the taller man’s gloved hand to assure him of his support. The master mumbled words of thanks, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of his new gamekeeper. 

“Do you mind?” 

“No,” Geiszler said softly, looking up at the man. “Not at all.” He put his arm around the master’s thin waist until they met the gravel drive. A young woman and little girl stood in the large doorway. 

“Good heavens,” the young woman called out as they reached the great oak and cast iron studded doors. “What’s happened?” 

The young lady possessed beautiful sleek black hair, styled upward in great loops in a traditional Japanese fashion, and her azure blue gown seemed to glow in the dull afternoon light. 

“Miss Mori, my niece’s governess,” Gottlieb said, gesturing toward the young lady respectfully as they walked into the entrance hall. “It was nothing, I simply collided with Mr. Geiszler here and fell. He was kind enough to help me back to the house. He is to be the new gamekeeper at Spikethwaite.” 

Geiszler smiled and shook hands with the lady. He said hello to the little girl who was rather shy and very interested in the spaniel, which he encouraged her to pet. Tress was very friendly and was glad of the attention. 

“My niece, Amalia,” Gottlieb said, removing his coat, placing it on a hook, and rubbing his hands together. “I must rest by the fireplace. Please go to the kitchen where you will find refreshment. Thank you again for seeing me back to Spikethwaite.” 

In an instant he seemed to fly from the front hall like a ghost, his cane echoing upon the wood long after he was out of sight. Geiszler peered into the darkness, almost in a trance, wishing to spend more time with such a peculiar man. Miss Mori endeavoured to speak to him and Geiszler apologized for his inattentiveness. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Mori.” 

“Likewise, Mr. Geiszler.” 

They walked towards the kitchen and Amalia and Tress followed. The house seemed very deep indeed, as if they were traveling far below the earth but horizontally into its tunnel-like wooden corridors. The kitchen was somewhat brighter but the floor was remarkably cold. Geiszler asked if he could light the fire and at once began to set it ablaze and stoke it. Tress settled near it on the black and white tiles and Geiszler turned to Miss Mori as he began to make tea and fix himself some cold lunch of bread and meat. 

“Thank you for seeing that I could make myself comfortable, Miss Mori,” Geiszler said smiling as he fed some scraps to Tress. 

“Of course, Mr. Geiszler,” Miss Mori said, leaning on the top rung of a Windsor chair. 

“Gottlieb is rather a melancholy man, then?” Geiszler remarked cautiously. 

“He is,” Miss Mori admitted. “But he is not a cruel man, as many have said. I imagine he is much talked of in the village and down the public house but he isn’t a bad man. He has suffered much and after losing his sister and her husband,” she looked down at Amalia who was sitting near Tress. “He has descended into a more morose air of late. His ill temper is not without reason. He can be hard at times but he has a generous heart.” 

“That is a kind testimonial.” 

Miss Mori nodded. 

“Your room is on the first floor, left off the landing. Amalia, we must leave this man in peace and continue your grammar.” She look Amalia’s hand and they departed, leaving Geiszler smiling to himself in the newly warmed kitchen. The traveling and events of the day must have taken quite a toll on Newton as he drifted off in a chair by the fire and awoke about an hour later, seemingly by the movement of another. The dog had let out a muted bark and the figure left. Newton arose and stretched, stirring the remaining embers and retiring to his room. Tress feasted on the dinner’s remains as Newton set down his bag, washed himself in the basin and settled down for the night, his mind full of those brown eyes set in the face of such a sullen an attractive gentleman. 

Newton rose early the following day and began his work, which consisted of gamekeeper’s duties and also that work of gardening and a mixture of remaining duties left to him, as many staff had departed for reasons both known and unknown to him. He presumed that there was a lack of funds and certainly no need to maintain a large household as it appeared that there was only Gottlieb, Miss Mori, Amalia, a housekeeper, a cook, and a very small number of servants. Clearly many rooms in the house were shut up and even his own room bore the marks of neglect even though it had been recently cleaned. 

His first day at Spikethwaite was waning and Newton stood still for a moment, surveying his work. He mopped his brown and wiped his hands on his apron as he looked around at all the clippings scattered on the ground. The trimming of the greenery made the place look less neglected than before. There was much work to do but Newton was encouraged that his work would have such an effect on the countenance of the estate. He began to rake up the cuttings and when he was finished he retrieved his jacket which he had draped over the nearby hedge and slung it over his shoulder. As he did so he caught sight of Mr. Gottlieb peering out the window who had failed parlously to be inconspicuous. The man swiftly returned to his newspaper, pretending he had not been looking. Geiszler chuckled to himself, breathing in the chilly, refreshing air and made his way around to the back of the house. Nearly every day Geiszler could see those pensive brown eyes spying on him from the windows and though it did not trouble him in any particular, he began to question why Gottlieb would be so interested and perhaps even suspicious of him. This may have been the reason why many servants had tarnished the master’s name and why they left. And yet, Geiszler felt there was something more to the man’s actions. Geiszler felt a boldness wash over him one afternoon and walked to the window and tapped on the pane. Gottlieb started, and made his way to the window and pulled up the sash. 

“Did you require me indoors, sir?” 

“No, I…I was intrigued by the work you are doing, perhaps I should not have…I didn’t mean to…” Gottlieb stammered, averting his gaze. 

“You are welcome to watch me work. Perhaps I can persuade you to join me outside, sir?” 

A flash of hope twinkled in Gottlieb’s eyes and he conceded, and in due course met the man outside. The brooding master seemed very pale in the light of day and was clearly in need of fresh air and sunshine. Geiszler offered him his arm again and Gottlieb took it, entwining his arm in the crook of the other man’s arm. They walked along silently and Gottlieb inhaled the sweet air. Though they did not venture far from the house, it was still a pleasant amble around some of the autumnal gardens. 

“I am glad I persuaded you,” Geiszler said somewhat boldly, but Gottlieb smiled gently, intimating that no bounds of propriety had been breeched. 

“As am I,” he replied. “Mr. Geiszler, I am bound to say that I have been observing your work these past weeks as you may have seen. Would you permit me to say, that I…that I am very pleased with your work?” 

“Yes,” Geiszler said, feeling somewhat lightheaded and full of pride. “I have noticed that you have observed me but, sir,” he laughed, “I am glad that you are satisfied with my work.” 

“You must think me a poor master given to suspiciousness, Mr. Geiszler.” 

“No indeed,” Geiszler assured him. “You can call me Newton, you know.” 

“Oh I couldn’t possibly,” Hermann said, blushing, fighting a smile and turning away back to the house. Geiszler grinned to himself, watching the taller gentleman return to his library.   
  
The autumn weeks passed into winter and the weather became bleaker. Geiszler’s work got colder and more miserable. Often he contended with rain and snow but bore it well. He was also often joined by Amalia most afternoons in between her lessons, but he was scolded by Gottlieb for distracting her from her work, usually with a simple glance of disapproval and sometimes outright tongue-lashings which he was want to ignore. As the weather grew colder, so it seemed did Gottlieb, watching at the window less and scolding more. One day, Geiszler had just skinned a rabbit when Miss Mori and Amalia approached, their footfalls softly crunching the snow.   
“Amalia has requested to pick holly for midwinter, Mr. Geiszler,” Miss Mori said with gladdened countenance, holding the little girl’s hand. Amalia ran to the gamekeeper. 

“Will you show me where to pick holly, Mr. Geiszler?” The man laughed and led the ladies toward the holly bush but did not see Gottlieb looking on from the parlor window. Geiszler showed them how to pick from the bush without pricking their hands with the help of a little knife and the gentle positioning of fingers. Amalia was very pleased with the clippings in her possession and was about to return to her lessons with her tutor when Gottlieb rounded the corner, his voice raised. 

“Mr. Geiszler! - Enough, I say! I have repeatedly told you that you must not interrupt my niece’s studies!” 

“Mr. Gottlieb!” The man approached him with a matching pace as the ladies retreated into the house. “Please do not yell! This is ridiculous!” 

“Into my study immediately!” 

Geiszler threw down his apron and followed the enraged man into the house. Miss Mori had ushered her charge upstairs and headed for the study after the men. 

“Mr. Geiszler, there have been too many interruptions to Amalia’s work,” Gottlieb said, sitting heavily at his desk. “Since you have come here she has spent more and more time away from her studies and —.”

“Listen to me,” Geiszler said, running his hand through his hair. “She expressed a wish to venture outside. What is she to do? Stay cooped up in here as you do?! She is a child who must —.”

“Do not lecture me on my own niece!” 

“You can live as you want but she wanted to see nature and —.” 

“Stop this!” Miss Mori called out. She approached his desk, her small figure was very imposing indeed as to make Gottlieb draw back slightly. 

“I must say, Mr. Gottlieb,” Miss Mori said with much strength in her calm voice, “that it is in Amalia’s best interest to learn from nature. As you well know, she cannot learn simply from the text books I provide and impart to her. Both Mr. Geiszler and I have been teaching her outside of my own tutoring. I have shown her the art of stick fighting and Mr. Geiszler has shown her gardening and the beauties of nature and animals. She herself is like a bird, Mr. Gottlieb, and she cannot and must not be ensnared* - her mind only existing in relation to her books. She must be inspired in other ways.” 

With that, Miss Mori turned on her heal, leaving the gentleman alone. Geiszler turned to the window in a rage, unsure of what to say. The air was thick with unease, broken only by the chime of the hall clock. Geiszler turned to see Gottlieb unmoving, his eyes brimming with tears. Sympathy touched his heart but he was still overcome with frustration at the man’s needless and unfounded anger. He pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat and placed it on the desk, stepping from the room without a word. Gottlieb brought the handkerchief to his lips before wiping his tears. 

The two men avoided each other for many days and Gottlieb was largely unseen, too full of shame to face Miss Mori. Geiszler paced the grounds with a heavy tread, sometimes seeing Gottlieb walking in the distance like a spectre. On one of these occasions, Geiszler pulled his coat around himself tightly and ventured into the house to escape the sight of him, cursing under his breath. The sound of the piano halted his steps and he paused on one side of the door to hear Amalia play. He was so engrossed he did not hear Gottlieb enter the hall. The sullen gentleman lingered in the shadows, enchanted by more than simply his niece’s performance. 

Mako congratulated her charge warmly. “You have improved so much in the delicacy of this piece. I know you enjoy flying through the stirring minuet but the accomplished pianist must play subtle and sensitive pieces with equal skill.” 

“I understand, Miss Mori,” the little girl said. “It is a pretty piece and I have enjoyed practicing it. Although…” 

“Yes, dear one?”  
“It is a little sad.” 

“That is part of its beauty.” 

Amalia nodded thoughtfully. Geiszler, much affected by her words, turned away, his heart aching with want and disappointment. Gottlieb held the man’s handkerchief in his hand and tucked it into his breast pocket. 

“Can we practice Bōjutsu now?” 

“Certainly! But only after you have demonstrated your harmonic scales to me one more time.” 

“Yes miss,” the girl said dutifully. 

Once her playing commenced, Gottlieb cleared his throat, making Newton jump slightly so that he clutched at his breast. Geiszler walked down the hall as quietly as he could and was pursued by the gentleman. 

“Mr. Geiszler,” he called above a whisper. “Newton.” 

Mr. Geiszler turned around at the sound of his name on the other man’s lips. Unwilling to forgive and yet anxious to speak with the man despite recent events, he stood firm and stern awaiting Gottlieb’s words. 

“Mr. Geiszler, do allow me to explain myself. I have contemplated, at great strain and through many a sleepless night, how I should talk to you, to all of you and make amends.” 

“Do not think of me; talk to your niece and Miss Mori. They are in need of your apology more than myself.” 

“I know,” Gottlieb said, hanging his head. “But I must explain to you as well that I…there is a reason for my recent bouts of ill temper. I am under certain obligation to give a ball, and while I have little funds to conduct such a lavish affair as people are accustomed, what pains me more is that…is that I am unworthy of this endeavour. I am not an ideal host and cannot make social discourse with the ease with which some people do. I know that does not - may not - seem to you as such a circumstance at which to put me in the foul temper I have been in, but this is why I behaved so badly to you and to Miss Mori. I am most humbly sorry and I do…I do beg your forgiveness.” 

“Mr. Gottlieb - Hermann - I’m…I do understand you. I wish that you hadn’t gotten so angry but, I know why.” 

Geiszler blinked slowly at him, his chest pumping a little harder than was necessary, his cheeks and nose tinted with pink. 

“I will talk to Miss Mori immediately. And my niece. I will do my utmost not to be unkind and to try to understand her need for that which I do not understand.” 

Geiszler nodded and turned but Hermann called him back, giving him words of thanks. 

“What for?” 

“For showing me the forgiveness that I have so needed.” 

Geiszler smiled sadly and ascended the stairs; he paused, listening to Gottlieb’s contrition. 

“Miss Mori, I must beg your forgiveness. Your words have lingered in my mind. And you are quite correct. I have no right to cage my dear niece.” 

“Mr. Gottlieb —.”   
“No no, Miss Mori, you have been too kind and patient and I will do my best to ensure your happiness here as well as my niece.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I owe you much and I have neglected you and ignored the great erudition which you possess.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Gottlieb,” she said, shaking his hand. “I know that you are in great pain. And I know that your loss has cut you so deeply. I could no longer hold my tongue and I am very glad that I spoke the words in my heart.” 

“So am I, Miss Mori, so am I.” 

“Now you must apologize to Mr. Geiszler.”   
“I already have. He was in the hall as I came to speak with you.” 

Miss Mori gave him the warmest of smiles. She brought Amalia forward and Hermann embraced her telling her that he was sorry and that she could visit Mr. Geiszler in the garden whenever she wished. Newton walked up the stairs with gentle steps, happy that the spell had been broken. 

The ball was a beautiful affair, despite the lack of funds. Geiszler did his best to decorate the haul, using every last spare candlestick he could find, and arranging the boughs as neatly as possible so that in the end it all looked very splendid indeed. Although apprehensive, Gottlieb was pleased with the evening in general and was more at ease with guests than he had anticipated. Geiszler watched from afar, silently cheering the gentleman on. However, to his dismay, Gottlieb did not dance with a single lady, not even Miss Mori even once, despite her frequent dances with a young Mr. Becket. The party dispersed very late in the evening and it was a great success. Gottlieb retired to the study with a cup of tea. Geiszler helped the additional servants hired for the occasion to extinguish all the candles and said good night to Miss Mori. He noticed that the light was on in the study and with trepidation, gently knocked. Gottlieb said to come in. 

“Ah, Mr. Geiszler, I haven’t seen you this evening.” 

“I’ve been around,” he replied. Gottlieb ushered him to sit down, offering him some tea from the pot. Gottlieb looked splendid in the firelight, his high cheekbones illuminated and his face looked much younger. Newton leaned his head onto the tall back chair. 

“I thought I asked you to call me Newton?” 

“Yes, of course. Newton.” 

Geiszler stretched his legs before the fire. His waistcoat was open slightly, revealing a triangle of flesh, bedewed from a day’s work. His clothing was somewhat soiled but otherwise clean enough to sit on such fine, if aging furniture.   
“You know,” Geiszler said softly after taking a long drink of tea. “I didn’t see you dancing, sir.” 

“If I’m to call you Newton, you must call me Hermann,” the man said much more animated than usual. There was much humor in his voice and it was most attractive in one who was in a largely solemn state. The corners of Newton’s mouth curled upward. “No, I did not dance.”

“Not even with Miss Mori.” 

“No, well,” Hermann said, sipping some more tea. I am not suited to dancing.” 

“Forgive me but I think you are. Your long legs look very suited to dancing.” 

Hermann looked quizzically at his gamekeeper but did not frown on the man’s impertinence.

“I’m sorry,” Newton said, though more in humor than in true contrition. He bowed his head, peering into his cup thoughtfully. With bated breath he summoned the courage to speak. “Hermann, would you…would you like to dance with me?” 

His words seemed to linger in the room like the mist on the moor and Hermann’s mouth hung agape. Only Mr. Geiszler would be so bold as to ask what he had himself longed for and perhaps did not even consider. He met the man’s soft, pleading gaze with wonder and sadness, unsure of how to respond to such a tender query. Newton rose, placing his cup upon a nearby table, and with outstretched hand he offered himself to the gentleman. 

“Shall we?” 

Hermann took the man’s hand in his own large palm and rose to meet him, their bodies close and tenderly sympathetic to one another. He nearly said that he ‘wasn’t sure how’, but Newton wrapped his arm about the gentleman’s waist and took his hand. Hermann rested a hand on shorter man’s shoulder and Newton led them gently, swaying this way and that in a way that told Hermann the man was musically inclined. Newton looked up at him with strength and confidence, his lips parted as if to speak and his eyes traveling to his own tender mouth. Hermann was about to ask a question he did not even comprehend when they were interrupted by a tap at the door. They parted at once and a maid asked if there was anything the men needed before she and cook retired for the evening. 

“Newton, I…we must retire for the night. It has been a long day and…” 

“Yes,” Newton said, his voice deepened with a loss of hope. “I have work to attend to tomorrow.” 

“Goodnight, Newton.”   
Newton wished Hermann goodnight and ascended the stairs, his shoulders drooping as he unbuttoned his shirt and retired to his room. He petted Tress who was sleeping contentedly by the fireplace. For several minutes he gazed into the embers before climbing into bed. He had only bothered to remove his boots and lay in his rumbled clothing before falling into a deep yet uneasy slumber. He rose early and slipped out into the comfort of the cold, wild landscape. He sowed the mustard and cress seeds, replenished the bird tray, and made sure the burlap over the rose bushes was secure. Newton, still shaken and somewhat lost from the evening before was careless, catching a finger on a thorn. It was a very small nick and bled little but Newton wrapped it in his handkerchief, the one he had given to Hermann. As he did so, entwining the cloth slowly around his finger, the maid approached. 

“The master requests that you come to his study, sir.” 

“Please tell him I will be right there,” Newton said. His mind ran wild, imagining that he would be dismissed, not in disgrace or shame but because it was impossible for Hermann, Mr. Gottlieb, to look upon him, and to dare to hope for what could not be. He straighten his unkempt hair and pulled is waistcoat down and buttoning the top clasp. Along the corridor he walked, nervous of his own footfalls. He knocked on the door. 

“Ah, Mr. Geiszler - Newton. Please sit.” 

Newton complied wordlessly and Hermann, who seemed agitated, and less somber than his usual self, walked to the door to shut it. He rested his head on the thick oak door and Newton looked down at the floor, clasping his hands. The thin man turned, holding his breath. At last he positioned his cane on the floor to steady himself, drew himself up and spoke. 

“Newton. You are a man who speaks plainly, not of a simple fashion, but of direct words, sure and true. I confess that when you came here I was ill at ease and even untrustworthy of your - what I perceived as your intrusion into my niece’s life, but more so your intrusion into my own life,” he paused, silently encouraging Newton to look up at him. “into my own heart.” 

“Hermann…” Newton was softened and relieved, his own heart pounding with happiness. 

“You - you must allow me to finish. I am not a young man. My decrepitude prevents me from a life that is often afforded to and expected of a gentleman.” 

“Decrepitude? You’re hardly over forty, sir.”

“Newton, please,” (the addressee could hardly help but smile) Hermann continued. “I must tell you that I am - I have not felt much love or kindness towards me these last few years since my sister’s death, aside from Miss Mori’s own sisterly kindness. I,” Hermann spoke haltingly. “I have not the desire to infect my niece, her pure heart, with my ill temper, as you see I am apt to do.”   
Hermann made his way to the desk, holding the corner for support with one hand and gripping his cane with the other. Newton hung on his every word. 

“I have suffered much and shut out the world around me for fear that they would leave me,” and then under passion Hermann seemed to break. “I miss my sister,” the man sobbed. “She understood my nature, my need for solitude. And now I retreat to the corner of this house, away from those who can cheer me, love me if I dare to hope…Newton.” 

Newton reached to the edge of Hermann’s great desk and touched the man’s hand. Hermann was unable to turn around to face him and so Newton tenderly pulled the gentleman into his arms, urging him to look deep into his eyes. 

“I am bound to you with a strong attachment,” Hermann said, wiping the tears from his face, “and I find that I am drawn to you with a passion I have not yet known before.” 

Newton closed the space between them with a movement as swift as a martin, holding fast and strong, leaning upward and capturing Hermann’s mouth with such ardor it took his breath away. Remaining in a tight embrace, they breathed great sighs of relief and Newton began to laugh softly. 

“I thought you were going to dismiss me.” 

“No, my darling Newton,” Hermann said, smiling more than the former had ever seen him. “I ask you now - though you may refuse if you wish - if you would do me the great honor of being a part of my life forever.” 

“With all my heart.” 

And so Newton became his husband in silent betrothal, their lives entwined for the rest of their days. Miss Mori grew more like a sister to the two men, and as Amalia blossomed into a fine woman, the ladies traveled much and were happy, returning with stories of their adventures. They became a family joined by love and kindness. Fondness for Hermann grew in the village and he hosted many a fete and party. But the happiest times of all for this once sullen master were his times with his love, the gentle gamekeeper whom he had once stumbled upon with his vagabond heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted this to be longer but my cptsd brain had other plans involving insomnia severe concentration issues and my jaw said, "I will now cause you pain" and I also had a tutoring gig dropped in my lap and then my internet connection has been dropping the last two days so I've been using hotspot data. I might extend it at a later date.
> 
> * “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” - Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre


End file.
